


St. Lawrence River

by jericho



Category: Actor RPF, Canadian Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: M/M, Some angst, a lot of snow, snooty francophones, why xavier really unfollowed sebastian on instagram (theory #1)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 21:05:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16668283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jericho/pseuds/jericho
Summary: Sebastian set down the menu and took a sip of the water. For a moment, they sat there, elbows on the table, afraid to look at each other. Then Sebastian took a breath. "Are you my boyfriend?"Xavier shrugged, still biting his thumb. "You want me to be?""I thought you already were." His blue eyes glanced upward, resting on Xavier's, the moist irises a question. "Are you?""Yeah." Xavier smiled. "I'm your boyfriend."The server returned, notepad in hand. "I'll get the tortellini," Xavier said in English. "I don't know what my boyfriend is having."





	St. Lawrence River

Xavier leaned over the railing outside Antoine's place and looked down at the staircase. It wound down five floors like an Escher drawing, and Xavier stretched out his arm and dropped his phone.

He imagined it bouncing off each level, shattering into a hundred slick, black pieces. Instead, it fell straight between them like a rock and landed at the bottom with a crunch.

The last thing he'd seen on it was a text bubble. _I'm at Chris's in LA._ The anger had risen in his chest like a mushroom cloud. Now he stood there, relishing this moment of spontaneous satisfaction.

He descended then, taking each step with a thud, until he was on the Montreal sidewalk under in a light snowfall. The weather here in December seemed designed to punish him, with the cold wind that bit his skin and made his eyes water. He wore only a light jacket, but whatever. He was above the weather.

He stepped onto the slush-covered street and lifted his hand when he saw a cab. It slowed, the driver's eyes gleaming through the windshield. He opened the back door and thumped into the seat. "Mount Royal," he said. "I'm going to the cross." The driver put the car into gear and said nothing, and they went off into the dark night.

3,000 miles. That's how far he was from Sebastian right now. They'd Skyped, and texted, and talked on the phone late at night - in New York, where Sebastian lived, or in LA, where he often was. But this was the first time Xavier had really felt the distance.

The distance would stay, he realized. He checked in his jacket pocket for his cigarettes, already wanting to check his phone. But it wasn't there anymore. And neither was Sebastian.

**

Six months earlier, two months after his Instagram post telling Sebastian to consider him if he was ever into guys, they were walking on Mount Royal in the dark.

They stood and looked out over the glittering Montreal skyline, and Xavier tromped into the dark woods alone to take a leak, the branches crackling under his shoes. Then they walked the long dirt path in the direction of the cross, which was tall as a midrise apartment building, gleaming white in the rough direction of the St. Lawrence River.

The warm wind gushed around them, and sweat formed an invisible V down the back of his T-shirt. The trees lurked on either side of them, giving way to occasional lamps. "I think it's this way," Xavier said, although under the starless sky, he wasn't sure.

The path stretched into the forest and then made an abrupt turn, up an incline where a small generating station buzzed off to the side.

"Is that it?" Sebastian said.

"No," Xavier said, and translated in his head. "It's an electricity station."

"This is the perfect place to get killed by an axe murderer."

A cyclist whipped around the corner then. "Is this the way to the cross?" Xavier called. The cyclist ignored them, and Xavier turned and shouted in French. "J'habite à Montréal," he called. "Tabernacle."

Sebastian looked after him. "Did he think you were English?"

"Yeah." Xavier took Sebastian's hand, holding it as they continued down the path, all the way to a row of trees with rickety wooden stairs heading downward, covered in leaves and branches. He went first, and with each ginger step, turned to make sure Sebastian kept his balance. "You got it?"

"Yeah. I'm OK."

The cross glowed through the trees, ominous in the dark sky, and Xavier followed the glow up a slight embankment. It buzzed above them, facing outward at an angle, and behind it, a Buddhist monk was doing what appeared to be Tai Chi.

"Look at that," Sebastian mumbled.

He did. The man was young and lithe, his movements like water, and he didn't even look at the newcomers. Xavier walked up to the brick ledge on the other side and climbed onto it, facing out at the lights with his feet dangling.

Sebastian did the same, and once they were seated, reached out and took Xavier's hand again. Their palms grew damp in the humid summer night, and Xavier adjusted, getting a fresh grip, matching their palms where the skin was dry. Xavier chewed the nails on his free hand, thumping his feet against the barrier. The river was a dark ribbon on the other side of the lights, running cool and murky and dangerous.

Xavier sighed and leaned toward Sebastian, resting his head on Sebastian's shoulder. It had been two months since Sebastian had first visited him here, first opening his suitcase in Xavier's spare room and turning down the blankets like it was a hotel. For two days, they'd eaten meals and taken walks with a hovering, breathless tension over them. Then Xavier had taken him to a pub down the street, and they'd had some drinks, and then kissed on the sidewalk on the way home.

Two months. That was one month shy of how long Xavier's relationships usually lasted. He wasn't even sure they were relationships really, more trial runs to see if lives aligned, abandoned after too many mismatched Fridays and Saturdays, emotional drills that quickly hit rock. He'd printed off _36 questions to fall in love with someone_ once and asked them to a guy he was dating, making eye contact with him across the kitchen table, touching the guy's foot under the table with his own. But his heart had stayed in place, beating the same steady rhythm.

Now he closed his eyes and tried to breathe in the humid air, the feel of his square-jawed man sitting next to him. "Maybe this won't be fleeting," he said.

"Hmm?" Sebastian said.

"I always imagine people are going to run away. I might have abandonment issues."

"Yeah," Sebastian said. "Me too. My mom left me in Romania when I was three. I had to live with my grandparents. Then there was Chris. He got a girlfriend and...."

Xavier wanted to ask more, but he didn't. He squeezed Sebastian's hand, and Sebastian squeezed back. "I'll be here as long as you want me to be," Sebastian said.

"A long time. I want you to be here a long time." He lifted his head, glancing back at the monk only to find him gone. The wind rustled through the dry leaves. The cross radiated with its electrical hum. The sky stretched over them like a black blanket.

Xavier slid off the barrier then, lower than Sebastian, and put his hands on Sebastian's knees. He slid his palms up Sebastian's thighs, reaching the zipper on his jeans and smirking as he found the little metal zipper tab. 

Sebastian made a "heh" sound and slipped his hips forward. He didn't help though. He let Xavier work. Xavier slipped the button out of its denim socket and peeled back the cloth to find Sebastian's soft mound underneath his cotton underwear.

Xavier opened his mouth and breathed against it, then rubbed until it grew harder in his hands. When he peeled down the waistband, Sebastian's erection bobbed out at him, and Xavier took it in his mouth. Any moment, someone could come around the corner. Another tourist. Another monk in search of high ground. But he took Sebastian to the root, and felt Sebastian's hand on the back of his head, pulling him in until it was hard to breathe.

After a moment, he got determined, and he wrapped his hand around the base, stroking Sebastian toward his mouth. Between the two elements, he found the rhythm he'd perfected in middle school. Sebastian's ass tightened, and he let out a soft moan, and he filled Xavier's mouth with hot, sinewy cum.

Xavier took some down his throat and let the rest spill, and when he sat back on his heels, rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're bad," Sebastian said.

"The worst."

He looked up at Sebastian then, and the smile beaming down at him was brighter than the cross.

Sebastian tucked himself back in and zipped up, and slid off the barrier. He kissed him before he spoke. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah."

"I like you a lot, you know." 

Xavier closed his eyes, absorbing those words, and rested his head on Sebastian's shoulder. Trust, he thought. Just trust him.

Sebastian took his hand, and they walked in time toward the buried steps again, away from hallowed ground. Back to civilization with his man.

Walking back through the parking lot, a car pulled out in front of them, and Xavier kept walking, staying on course. His glare at the driver was a dare. The car continued forward and Xavier lifted his hand. "Tabernacle!" They were tourists. He knew from the blank stare in the driver's eyes. A retiree and his wife in a Lincoln rental, on their last site-seeing stop of the day.

Xavier took Sebastian to a pub near his house, and they drank pints a Roch Voisine played on the old jukebox. Xavier saw Rene across the bar and knew him from the back of his head.

"I know that guy," Xavier said.

Sebastian craned his neck to look back. "You want to go say hi?"

"No." Xavier sipped his beer and looked off in the direction of the dart board, which still had darts attached from some historic game. 

He'd dated Rene for two months. He knew from the texts when it was over. He'd asked Rene what he was doing that night and didn't hear from him until the next day. _Pardon_ , he'd said. _Phone was turned off._ That was always how things happened. They rarely ended with a blow of anger, or a sudden and violent turn of events. They always just melted like ice. Xavier considered himself excellent at knowing the moment when that happened. He knew right when to stop texting, and the other person never reached out again.

He reached across the table and took Sebastian's hand. His thumb, with its nail bitten down to the pink part, moved over Sebastian's knuckles. Sebastian turned his hand, and their fingers began to dance.

Xavier finished his beer and thumped the glass on the table. "Let's go."

Back at the house, he stripped naked at the foot of his bed and climbed in, sitting with his back against the headboard as he watched Sebastian disrobe. Sebastian's body was pale and smooth, as if done from a mould. His shoulders were broad, his stomach covered in ridges of muscle, and he crawled toward Xavier on his hands and knees.

Xavier slipped down, and he thought he could still feel the shape of Sebastian's cock in his mouth. He never bottomed, so when Sebastian pushed two lubricated fingers inside him, he felt his muscles crank tight and rebel.

He breathed out, closed his eyes, willed his body to give. Then Sebastian was on him, nudging his knees apart, and when his cock slid into him, he saw flashes of blinding light.

"OK?" Sebastian whispered.

"Yeah," Xavier said. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He nodded and licked his lips, breathed in and out as he concentrated, and when Sebastian tried again, he felt a blitz of sensation.

So this was what it was like - being split open and taken on a ride, being invaded and forced to come. They rocked on the bed, the back of Xavier's hair becoming a tangle of curls. Xavier kept his grip on Sebastian's hair, holding his mouth against him, not wanting the kiss to end. It was an anchor and a reminder. Trust.

**

Standing in the gay village, coloured balls forming streams of rainbow colours over their heads, Xavier reached out and grabbed Sebastian's hand again.

The street was crowded. Some who passed made fleeting eye contact. Others walked with apathetic eyes, locked in their own thoughts. It was early evening, and the heat was releasing its grip on the city. Xavier wore shorts and a navy blue T-shirt.

Sebastian pulled his hand away and swung it at his side. They walked a few more steps, stopping in front of an Italian restaurant, and Xavier reached out and touched his wrist again. "What about here?"

"Dude, stop." Sebastian waved his hand in Xavier's direction, keeping his eyes on the street.

"What?"

"Stop touching me like that."

"You mean in public?" Xavier didn't mean for it to sound like a snap, but it did.

"You're into that. I'm not."

Into it. Xavier wondered if he'd ever had a choice. The first person to call him a fag did it when he was eight. Fag boy with his faggy drug store commercials and his faggy acting career. A bigger kid had shoved him forward on the playground once, into the long jump pit. Xavier had put his hands out in front of him and broken his fall enough to not land on his face. Then he'd stood, turned and swung at the boy, and gave him a perfect shiner.

"I'm not 'into it.' I just don't have anything to hide."

"You think I'm hiding?"

"What the fuck else are you doing?" Their eyes met and crackled with mutual hostility, and Xavier looked away first.

"Not hiding," Sebastian said. "I don't give a fuck what people think of me."

"Good." Xavier stepped forward, a hand on either side of Sebastian's face, and kissed him hard on the lips, just once.

Sebastian pushed him away. "Dude, stop."

Xavier rolled his eyes toward the restaurant. "You're hiding, man. Just admit it."

"Not everyone's as out there as you. Just because I'm not fucking you in the middle of the street doesn't mean I'm hiding."

Xavier watched the restaurant patio, where a table of men with fresh haircuts laughed at a mutual joke. "Let's go here." He headed up to the door, said in French that he wanted a table for two. The server sat them near the back.

Framed photos of Elvis and James Dean hung over their table, and across the room, an old metal Coca-Cola sign. The server was thin, his facial hair cultivated, and Xavier watched Sebastian's eyes drift over him as he poured them little glasses of water. He turned over the cocktail menu and ordered something with bourbon. Sebastian held up his fingers. _Make it two._

Xavier chewed his thumbnail when the server walked away, watching Sebastian's brow furrow as he studied the menu. 

"Who was the last guy you had a thing for?" Xavier said. "Before me."

Sebastian chewed his bottom lip without looking up. "Probably Chris. He's mostly totally straight but I always got a vibe from the guy." He glanced up. "What about you?"

"All of them. I get crushes on all of them."

Sebastian set down the menu and took a sip of the water. For a moment, they sat there, elbows on the table, afraid to look at each other. Then Sebastian took a breath. "Are you my boyfriend?"

Xavier shrugged, still biting his thumb. "You want me to be?"

"I thought you already were." His blue eyes glanced upward, resting on Xavier's, the moist irises a question. "Are you?"

"Yeah." Xavier smiled. "I'm your boyfriend."

The server returned, notepad in hand. "I'll get the tortellini," Xavier said in English. "I don't know what my boyfriend is having."

Sebastian frowned at the menu and then looked at the server. "Deux," he told him, holding up two fingers.

"You're getting better," Xavier said. "You know how to say two."

Sebastian smirked. "You're an asshole." Underneath the table, Xavier felt the scrape of Sebastian's sneaker on his leg. They couldn't hold hands, but they could touch legs.

That night, they took the subway down to old Montreal, where Xavier's friend played an acoustic set. The pub was across the street from the dark river, which formed gentle white waves when the wind picked up. Xavier imagined taking a run and dropping into the water like an anchor.

They stood in the 200-year-old building, amongst framed black and white photos attached to the walls like barnacles. Xavier cradled his glass of dark beer, nodding to the music, and felt Sebastian's hand rest on his back. He looked up at him. Sebastian looked back, and without warning, kissed his forehead.

Xavier tilted and leaned his head against Sebastian's chest. His friend's plaintive voice was random noise now. It reminded him of laying in bed with Sebastian and listening to his steady heartbeat, muffled like an underwater bass drum.

Montreal to New York wasn't so far, he thought. It was a one-hour flight. He'd taken it twice before to see Sebastian, and he was barely in the air before the plane came down again. He could keep doing it. And Sebastian would grow into this city. Maybe Xavier could even teach him to say more than the word for _two_.

**

The next morning, Xavier laid with his head on Sebastian's chest. It was hairless as a Ken doll's. Every muscle on his body seemed planned.

"So did you ever do anything?" he asked. "You and Chris."

"Yeah. Couple of times."

Xavier's eyes opened all the way, and he looked over Sebastian's skin to his open closet door. "I thought you said he was straight."

"He is. He just gets sloppy when he's drunk."

He heard Sebastian's heart gallop under his ear. The pace quickened, and Xavier sat up and looked down at him. "What did you do?"

"We kissed. Accidentally. It was at a party. He walked up to me like this and..." Sebastian mimicked putting someone in a headlock. "And he said 'you're my buddy.' And I kissed him."

"You kissed him? I thought he kissed you."

Sebastian paused. "Did I say that?"

Xavier flopped back, both shoulders on the mattress, and looked at the ceiling. Sebastian sat up. "I should get packed." Xavier glanced sideways at Sebastian's bare back, and the spine that poked through pale skin when he bent to find his underwear. He tilted back and kissed Xavier again, then walked naked into the bathroom.

Xavier had always been good at reading people. In high school, he and his mother were going through a drive thru, her applying lipstick as they waited to move ahead. He'd rested his ear against the head rest, watching her snap the cap back on and drop the lipstick in her purse. She was always obsessed with having perfect lipstick.

His question was spontaneous. "Did you want to be a mom?" 

She'd looked in the rear-view mirror, features calm, but he saw a sudden storm of emotions. "We don't always want what we get," she said, "but we learn to live with it."

He sat up now and headed into the kitchen, listening to the shower water as he turned on the coffee maker.

This had lasted longer than he thought it would. Whatever happened with it, he would be OK. He was a writer. An actor. A filmmaker. Whatever happened, he'd turn it into art. It would be OK.

**

The cab wound up the road toward Mount Royal. Snow whisked over the road as they drove, coating everything in a fresh layer of white.

"It's cold out there," said the driver. Xavier glanced at his licence on the back of the seat. _Singh, Aarav._

He sat forward in the seat, jamming his hands in the pocket of his thin jacket, and reached for his wallet as they pulled into the parking lot. "This is good." He passed the guy $30 and got out, slamming the door behind him.

Only the odd lamppost broke up the darkness. The wind whipped his face, and he watched the cab disappear down the lane.

As he headed down the path, snow soaked his running shoes, finding invisible holes and seeping in with frigid gushes. The howl was ghostly. "Fuck," he mumbled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. His pockets didn't have enough layers anymore.

How cold was it? Minus 5 Celsius, he thought. Maybe even minus 10. People were in their houses down there, wearing flannel and covering themselves in blankets, unaware that someone up here was freezing. By the time he reached the fork - chalet on one side, path to the cross on the other - his teeth had stopped chattering. 

He imagined walking up to the dark chalet and smashing the glass, setting off the alarm, huddling in a corner away from the broken window. He'd heard of wilderness people huddling under snow, like Leonardo DiCaprio in The Revenant. He couldn't feel his cheeks anymore. Or his fingers. Or his legs above the knees, where it was just frozen flesh and muscles. The Montreal Gazette would cover his death. So would the CBC. And maybe Variety and the Hollywood Reporter, and The Advocate. _Gay Filmmaker Dies_.

He thought of Kate Winslet in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind then. _You know Clementine. She's impulsive._

He reached the point where the trail cranked back. Was there heat in the electrical station? How long could he huddle there before anyone found him? 

Tears dried in cold streaks on his cheeks. He kept walking. Fuck it. Fuck it. Tabernacle. Heading down the leaf-covered steps, he slipped and landed hard on his tailbone, and the tears came harder. He wiped his snow covered hands on his pant legs and seethed through gritted teeth. The wind swallowed the animalistic sound, and he pushed himself to his feet.

A little farther, and there it was. The blowing snow obscured its glow, but not its hum. Why was he here? Because it made a perfect movie scene. A point of origin. He could close his eyes and imagine himself sitting there with that perfect boy. The Ken doll.

He went over and sat under the cross, shielded by the wind, and leaned against the metal wall. Shit happens all the time, he thought. Feelings change. People leave.

The snow blew in sheets now, rising in little cyclones, whipping up in sudden gusts of new vigour. Wind didn't care about anything but wind.

He had to get up. He would die here otherwise.

Somehow, he made it back to the parking lot, and when he did, he found the cab idling. He blinked once, twice, like he was watching a mirage. It wasn't until he thumped on the window that he really believed it was real.

Aarav Singh peeked through the window and waved for him to get inside.

Xavier got in, blowing on his hands and then rubbing his ears, so cold he thought he could pick them off like icicles. "What are you doing here?"

Singh shrugged as he turned the wheel, and the cab tires crunched over the snow. 

"It just didn't look right," he said.

**

The next morning, Xavier reached for his phone and realized he didn't have it. So he went to his laptop. He lit a cigarette and opened Facebook Messenger to find Antoine talking to him. _I found your phone._

Xavier's fingers scrambled. "WHAAAAAT?"

"Ya. The screen is broken but it still works. You have some texts."

Xavier paused, biting at his bleeding thumb. There was the pulsing ellipses, like a ticking clock, and then Antoine again. "You want it?"

And he did.


End file.
